"It is not I who will send you mad," he said. "She will do it in good
time. She has done it to others--she has done it to me. That is why I
tried to kill her. That is why I may not rest until I have killed her.
Don't you know why I wanted that money? She was at the Priory, and I
walked there, to see her for a moment, to hear her voice. I hid in the
grounds--it was two days before I saw her. Then she shrank away from me
as though I were some unclean animal. She would not look at me, nor
suffer me to speak. I had no right, she said, to come into her presence
in such a state. I was to come decently dressed, in my right mind--then
she might talk with me. But a creature in rags! It wasn't kind, was
it? I had waited so long, and I was what she had made me. So I went
across the hills to Feldwick, and I wrote a note to my father. He tore
it into small pieces unread. So I came by night, a thief, and you also
were there by night, a thief. The same night, too. It was queer.

"I do not want to hear any more," Douglas said, with a shiver. "I
thought that you were dead."

"I have an excellent recipe for immortality," was the slow, bitter
answer. "I desire to die."

"There are your sisters," Douglas said slowly. "They are in London.
After all, you did not mean to kill him."

The man shook his head.

"I have no sisters," he said, "nor any kin."

"Why not Africa, and a fresh start?" Douglas said. "I am poor, but I
can help you, and I can borrow a bit--enough for your passage and